


Find a Penny, Pick it Up

by Lilsi



Category: The Bill (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-05-13
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:01:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24160978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilsi/pseuds/Lilsi
Summary: Luke Ashton bumps into Craig Gilmore and his son 15 years after SunHill.
Relationships: Luke Ashton/Craig Gilmore
Comments: 1
Kudos: 6





	1. Friday AM

**Author's Note:**

> This fanfiction was once posted at Craiggilmore.co.uk a fan site no longer active, so to preserve this story and others, I am importing them to AO3. I did not want the loss of such a large amount of amazing and wonderful fanfiction, it would be such a waste to fans of Craig Gilmore and Luke Ashton to not have the opportunity to enjoy these stories as i have. Since the site is no longer active i have been unable to contact the creators but if you happen to be them under a new pen name and want the fiction to be removed please send me a note!
> 
> Story written by - Baxter

Friday a.m.

Every morning he wakes up early and it takes a few seconds to remember where he is.

I’m here, in my life, in my flat, alone.

Then he has a hot shower, straightens his bed, dresses carefully, gathers the lunch he prepared the night before, closes all the windows, checks the locks are snug, closes the door behind him and walks to the tube station.

His life is mostly fine. No doubt his job can be distressing but outside, at home, there are no warps or great tragedies, nothing for him to fear, no reason for him not to be grateful and content. Everything ticks over nicely in the huge lonely chasm that he, now aged forty, finds himself in.

How do you get a good partner? Is it likely that, if you keep hunting, stay optimistic, make efforts to maintain your health, improve your mind, eat right and read well, that you might be rewarded? Or is it just as likely that sometimes a person occurs who just isn’t suited to any of the other billions who share the earth with them?

This is how he sees himself - unsuited to anybody, seemingly a passable match from a distance but up close imperfect, ill-fitting, wrong.

It’s been like this for years. Occasionally the monotony is relieved by a quick tryst, a man who seems to like him until he gets close and the flaws become obvious. Or there will be a trauma at work that brings a week of sleepless nights, a stressed weekend, a period where he will soak every night in the tub, imagining the grief dissolving in the clean water.

This morning he wakes up early as always, wonders where he is, has a hot shower, straightens his bed, dresses carefully, packs the lunch he set aside last night, closes the windows, checks the locks, pulls the door shut behind him, walks to the tube station – but the months of monotony stop suddenly when he finds, hidden in this cold dull wintry Friday, a penny bright as a tiger's eye. He says to himself:

Find a penny  
Pick it up  
And all that day  
You’ll have good luck.

He turns the coin in his palm and examines the impossible glow. “Penny for your thoughts,” he says to himself and pushes the coin firmly into his pocket.

And as he walks to the train station, all kinds of colourful things catch his eyes. Over there is a pot of yolk yellow tulips lighting up a window sill, then a woman walks past wearing a thick silver necklace filled with sparkling pink rhinestones and before him appears a small child in a bright orange snowsuit, running up the path to her front door. Everywhere there are small friendly flags calling him in, reminding him that maybe life isn’t so bleak after all, it’s not all over.

He travels from High Barnet to Camden – same train, same time – every morning. Mostly he doesn’t look at the other passengers but if he did, he would be able to recognise at least twenty familiar faces; people like him who take the tube every day. Usually he is indifferent to his fellow passengers: some days he hates them, but today he loves them; has empathy for them; wishes them well.

When he steps off at the grimy old station, he fancies that he follows - rather than leads - the huge crowds; watching the hurried steps of some, the careful steps of others, as they walk down the station, around the old tunnels. The crowd is more unyielding when he walks out to the crowded street, but the flashes of colour are more frequent. In the waves of people that come towards him he sees an older woman with perfect silvery hair and a slick of heavy carmine lipstick; then a young woman in a grass green coat; then a boy in bright blue knitted jumper. He could be 12; handsome in a sulky dark way, a flop of heavy hair swept across his forehead. He’s tall but incomplete; his approaching puberty creating the illusion that his rapidly extending bones don’t fit together, but that he jangles like a skeleton linked with string. The boy is with an adult – maybe his father who might have said something to him and the boy smiles, aware of a familiar, pleasing thing.

“Luke Ashton!” the adult says, but Luke is still seeing the boy who stops in front of him, shy yet appearing certain that Luke will be pleased to see him.

Luke looks then to the adult, not quite comprehending as he masses together the sound of the voice and the noise of the station and the sight of the boy.

“Craig!” Luke says before he’s quite realised everything. Impatient, grumbling people push past them. “Hello Craig!”

“Hello Luke,” he says, and they reach over more than a decade's worth of their lives to shake hands.

For it second it’s hard to know where to start.

“You on your way to work?” Craig ventures.

“Yeah, I am, I’m stationed at Camden.”

“Still in uniform?”

Luke nods. “Child Protection Unit. You still in the force?”

Craig is impressed by Luke’s career, but it’s too noisy; no place for details. “I’m at Ealing.”

“Inspector?”

Craig smiles, eyes down, blushes slightly. “Chief Inspector.”

“Wow! Well done!” Luke looks at the young boy and back to Craig. “You on your way home?”

“We’re off to the dentist!” Craig rests his hand on the lad’s shoulder who, on cue, offers an artless, charming, closed lipped smile. “This is my son, Benny.”

The words go round and round Luke, huge booming sounds that fill him with a thousand different feelings.

Craig smiles at his son with the warmth and confidence only a parent can know with their child. “Show us your choppers, Benny,” he says to the boy and Benny gives them both a spontaneous, beautiful shy smile, his resemblance to Craig striking; his mouth a showcase of expensive flashing silver braces.

Luke talks directly to the boy. “They coming off today?”

For all his shyness Benny seems to know him and answers with an eager familiarity, the crazy creak of puberty ripe in his voice. “Yep. Not a day too soon neither.”

“Either,” Craig says automatically.

Benny curls his lip playfully. He’s tall and looks up to Craig with little effort. “Whatever.”

The crowds push around them, some tutting. They’re in the way.

“Well, we should get going, and I should let you get to work..”

“Yeah, sure, I best get going.”

Craig nods, lifts his hand but brings it back softly to rest on Benny’s shoulder.

“Good to see you again, Luke.”

“Thanks.” Luke really means it. “It was good to see you, too.”

“Well, goodbye,” Craig says.

“Bye. Good luck at the dentist, Benny.”

The boy smiles, so much like his father it makes Luke ache. “Thanks!”

Luke walks back in to the grey crowd. Benny, meanwhile, tugs his father’s arm, says something quickly.

“Luke!” Craig calls back over the people. And when he turns around, Craig takes two steps so Luke takes two steps.

“Yeah?”

“Come over to dinner. We’re in Ealing. It’d be nice to catch up.” Craig fishes in his wallet and hands over his business card. It’s stiff and cool, pristine, it seems freshly printed.

“I’ll give you mine,” Luke says, and as he hands over his own card his voice falters. “Give me a call.”

“When’s good for you?” Craig asks. Benny watches anxiously.

“Anytime,” Luke says plainly. “I don’t have a family to manage!”

“Great. I’ll call you soon.”

“I’d like that.”

The moment is so pleasant it’s hard to let it go.

“We have to get moving. The appointment’s at nine o clock.”

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

“See you at dinner, Luke!” Benny says brightly, and although the entire meeting was wonderful it is this final reminder, that eagerness in Benny’s voice, that sets Luke’s heart alight.

It was such a fortuitous encounter, so special in so many ways, that Luke will not foul it with the grime of his work. Now and then a thought will surface; Craig, and then Benny, but Luke will hold it still and wait for it dissolve. In between phone calls, giving orders, checking files, taking more phone calls, searching databases, Luke does rough, detached calculations.

It’s been fourteen years since Luke last saw Craig. Benny would be 12 or 13. Luke adds and subtracts, tries to find his own place in Craig’s personal history and measure that with Benny’s conception. Who is the mother? Is there another father? Adoption? But that’s impossible. The boy is the living image of Craig.

In the waiting room at the dentist Craig holds a magazine but doesn’t even see the pictures. Luke would be 39, 40. His business card says he’s made Sergeant. He looks good, trim and fit. Child Protection Unit, that’d wear you out. Craig’s heard they have to rest them – six months on the beat, six months in the office to recover. Luke’s highly strung, reactive. It would be difficult work for him. And then Craig adds up too and can see how much time has passed. Luke was highly strung. He could be anything now. He could be married again, he could be in a relationship. He could be anything.

Craig smiles to himself. He’s still gorgeous.

Benny steps out of the dentist’s surgery nearly an hour later, his mouth jammed shut.

“How’d you go?” his father asks with an anxious face. His boy has hated the braces. They caused all kinds of discomfort, cut his gums, interfered with his eating.

Benny makes a fierce face with his mouth jammed shut and when he sees the necessary amount of concern and pity rise in Craig’s eyes the lad opens his jaws wide, displays a mouth that’s clean and pink, filled with healthy young teeth that are perfectly straight.

Craig grabs the boy’s chin with his soft hand, gently shakes his face. “You rotten little bugger,” he says, and Benny laughs wickedly, his eyes bright as pennies.


	2. Friday PM

Friday p.m.

Luke is flat out when his phone rings at two that afternoon. He is briefing a pair of nervous constables who will be involved in a raid where up to six children have been reported to be immediate danger.

“Stand by,” Luke barks in to his mobile and continues his instructions to the members of his relief. Craig sits patiently on end of the line, listening to Luke’s clarity, his control, the respect his voice and tone demand. It’s impressive.

Luke sends the constables on their way.

“Ashton,” he snaps into the phone.

“Luke, it’s Craig. I’ve got you at a bad time, I’ll call you back.”

“No, not all.” Luke is conciliatory, accommodating. His hearts races. “No, I won’t be a minute, I’ve just got to get this underway – can I call you back in a few minutes?”

“Sure. I’m at home.”

Luke can hear odd noises in the background, someone moving heavy things.

“I’ll call you back.”

When Luke calls back his office is calm and quiet.

“I’m sorry to disturb you at work,” Craig says.

“Oh, it’s fine. You didn’t disturb me. You know there’s never a good time.”

Craig laughs politely. He has been working towards this, encouraged by Benny’s pestering and taunting; driven at a much deeper level by reclaiming something that he has always felt, rightly or wrongly, was his; something he was cheated of.

“Look, it’s probably bad timing, but it was good to see you today… I wondered if you’d like to come over to dinner tonight?”

Luke answers too quickly. “Yeah! I’d really love to!”

All the muscles in Craig’s shoulders soften. “Great! Great. Benny’ll be thrilled.” He leaves a dramatic pause. “He’s cooking!”

“Really?” Luke is strangely flattered. “What are we having?”

“Benny’s doing his signature dish - roast and Yorkshire pudding.”

“Sounds wonderful! What can I bring?” It’s been so long since Luke has been invited to dinner like this.

“A bottle. Yourself.” Craig lowers his voice. “A strong stomach.”

The evening seemed so close, but took forever to start. Luke struggled to get away, lumbered with paperwork, making call after call while one of his constables sat opposite, weeping openly, the other down in the emergency ward having a gash in his head stitched up. It was vile, protecting the weakest and most vulnerable, everything about it was hell. When you first start it’s hard to remember the pleasant things, hard to remind yourself to keep looking out in to your own world where things are clean and safe.

Luke’s good at it now, walking though the corridors of hell every day, leaving the fires behind when he closes his office door in the evening.

It was just after seven when he found Craig’s nice house. It was white, there was a neat garden, sad little sticks this time of year but Luke assured himself it would thrive in warmer months. Craig opened the door almost immediately, he must have been nearby.

“Thank you for coming,” Craig said formally, embarrassed now. Luke panics at the sight of him, wonders why he is here, the history and the possibilities.

But their uncertainty eased as Craig led him through the house, towards a source of bright warm light and rich cooking scents where Benny stood in the kitchen, carefully pouring batter in to the lovingly greased recesses of a patty cake pan. Once again he is pleased to see Luke and his face, oval and smooth like his father’s, tells Luke they have a connection.

Luke wonders what it might be.

“That looks very professional,” says Luke. He has an easy manner with young people, addresses them with respect, on an equal footing. It’s remarkable to Craig, knowing his son’s shyness, seeing him respond to a stranger without blushing or stammering.

“You have to let the batter sit for a bit,” Benny tells him. “It makes it go all airy.”

“Do you do cooking at school?”

Benny nods, carefully monitoring the last drips of the heavy white mixture into the little pans. “It’s one of my constants,” he answers.

“They have electives and constants,” Craig explains, “Subjects they can do for a term or subjects they can carry for two years.”

“What form are you in?”

“Upper first,” Benny says.

Luke hasn’t heard that archaic term for a long while. “What school?”

“Beecham.”

“Really?” It’s a very expensive boys’ private school. Luke turns to Craig, who is opening the wine Luke brought.

“It’s good,” Craig says. He doesn’t explain how he affords the thousands of pounds in school fees.

Luke asks about the other classes Benny takes and the sports he plays. Maths, communication, history, Rugby, general science, society and culture, English, nutrition, construction and environment – the exotic and the traditional things kids study these days.

When everything is in the oven, when Craig has checked the temperatures and praised his son on the progress of the meal, he takes Luke to the lounge room.

“Can I come?” Benny asks.

“No. You have to stay here,” Craig teases.

“You can come,” Luke says.

The room is sober, clean and creamy, some dark rugs and slightly worn cushions but it’s scrupulously tidy and welcoming. On the sparkling clean coffee table there are neat untouched bowls of nuts, small crackers, little china dishes of dips, some cubes of flaky cheddar and a very large bowl of crisps. The preparation for Luke’s visit has been careful and diligent.

On one side of the room there is wonderful maple table, a feature in itself because it holds dozens of framed photographs. Luke can see pictures of Craig as he best knows him, younger, beaming with pride as he holds a small baby. In the photos Craig becomes less familiar as Benny gets older.

“You can have a look,” Benny says, and he takes Luke over to see them, Craig stands back a bit, prepared to let Benny fill in the gaps. “That’s my grampa in Wales with Nan, and they’re my cousins Peter and Sally, they live ‘round the corner, and that’s my other cousin Jack in Cardiff…” the list goes on and on. Luke makes polite inquiries but mostly lets Benny tells the stories.

“And that’s my mum.” There are few of his mother with toddler Benny, but Luke can’t see anything recent. Benny adds a piece quickly to save Luke any clumsy questions. “She died when I was four. She had breast cancer.”

“I’m sorry,” Luke says.

“It’s okay.”

“I was a surrogate baby,” Benny says with evident pride. “Mum was gay too. She and Dad met at a protest march.”

“Was your mum a policewoman?”

Craig is watching but offers no information.

“She was a photographer for a new agency. They’re all her photos.” Benny points to some large framed photographs on the wall, clear studies in black and white, landscapes, buildings.

“They’re great photographs,” Luke smiles. He’s on familiar ground. When children are very little they like repeated information about where they came from physically – how long was in your tummy? How did I get there? Then, as they enter their teens and their childhood experiences start to layer and set into their complex personalities, they want reassurance of their place in the world at large. Luke sees this everyday, young people like Benny, only child of a single parent, fitting pieces of his heritage together. Where their mum was born, where their name comes from, their history, their part in the world.

“You know I was named after you.” Benny seems unable to contain this any more.

“Benny!” Craig is entertained more than embarrassed.

“Me?” Luke says.

“Benicio Luke,” Benny tells him, the words crushing together in his excitement. “Mum chose my first name and Dad picked the middle name. My great grandmother was Spanish, she ran an olive farm by herself!” Benny’s eyes are flashing, he wants to say something, almost doesn’t, and then blurts it out before his father can intervene. “Dad said you once pulled a woman from a burning car!”

Luke grins, he looks to Craig for guidance. Their lines of sight catch and they meet at the same point, see the same thing in each other’s eyes.

“I did,” Luke says.

“Dad said you saved her life.”

There was more to the story but there was no need to lumber Benny’s history with that.

“I did.”

The boy is tremendously satisfied. A piece of his own history, small part that held huge significance for his father and therefore to him had been discovered, verified and set into place.

“I think that is so COOL,” Benny said decisively.

Dinner was nice. It appeared to Luke that Craig had certainly supervised the cooking but that Benny had completed the hard parts alone. They sat around the table chatting comfortably, Benny in a way a buffer between Luke and Craig. While he was there no unseemly topics could be raised, no recrimination, no regrets. They spoke of the present, what they knew now.

Craig asked continual questions about Luke’s job; Benny listened closely, unable to pick the parts Luke edited because his own family life was so safe and secure. Craig could hear it though.

“See?” he said to Benny, “This is why I set curfews. There are bad people out there.”

“Yes, Gov,” Benny answered boldly and then addressed Luke. “His staff call him Gov. He’s the Guv’nor!”

“You bet I’m the Guv’nor,” Craig said roughly. Luke smiled at them, playing like this.

Luke, in turn, asked about Craig’s job, wondered about balancing a demanding role with parenting.

“It’s pretty flexible,” Craig said modestly. “And my sister lives by. She was great when Benny was in primary school. It made it very easy for us.”

“I used to go there after school,” Benny says. “But the Guv lets me come home now and wait for him.”

“Well, you’re big and ugly enough to look after yourself now.”

Benny grins delightedly. His eyes are identical to Craig’s, even the shape of his eyebrows and his sooty lashes.

“I think these are the best Yorkshire puddings I’ve ever eaten,” Luke says.

“Really?” Ordinarily Benny would shrug his shoulders, make the unconcerned face peculiar to shy pubescents. He reacts differently to Luke who, although he is an adult and in a sense part of the fold, is not a blood relative, not a disciplinary figure. It fascinates Craig.

Not long after dinner the phone rings. Craig answers, brings the phone to Benny.

“It’s for you,” he says gravely. “A young lady.”

Benny’s face fills with a scarlet stain. He takes the call in the next room.

“It’s just started recently,” Craig says as he and Luke have the table to themselves, sounding like a father and nothing else. “The girls have started calling.”

“How old is he?”

“Thirteen in April.”

“He’s right on track!”

“Further down the track than I’d like.”

“There’s nothing you can do to stop him,” Luke says rightly.

“That’s what annoys me so much.”

“It’ll only be a problem if you try to stop him,” Luke adds. He talks with complete confidence, almost makes the comment in passing. It’s new to Craig. Luke was only ever defiant or resentfully subservient – never on par with him. This fascinates him too.

When Benny comes back he’s embarrassed, worried about the scrutiny he’ll have to endure. His father wants every last detail of the conversation, every last detail of the young lady who called.

“Was that Gemma?” Craig asks his son.

“Violet,” Benny mumbles.

“Do you have girls at your school?” Luke asks pleasantly. It sets the conversation in a different direction. Benny answers keenly. Violet, it transpires, attends the girls’ division of his school, a smaller college called Bennett. She’s in the same year as Benny.

“Does she do the same subjects?” Luke wonders.

“She does dance,” Benny says. “She wants to get into the Academy.”

Craig listens carefully, both to Luke’s line of questioning and Benny’s enthusiastic responses.

What a successful evening!

“He likes you,” Craig says much later that night when Luke is leaving.

“He’s a nice kid.”

“You’re good with him.” Craig’s eyes are narrowed with parental concern for although Benny is allegedly in bed, the light in his room is burning and at the front door, where Luke and Craig wait for the taxi, they can hear the bass thumps and electronic squeals form Benny’s computer.

“He knows he should be in bed,” Craig sighs. It sounds like a battle he and Benny fight often.

Luke shrugs his shoulders. “At you least you know where he is and what he’s doing.” The comment is so familiar to Luke that he barely hears himself saying it, barely realises that he touches Craig’s upper arm in friendly assurance .

Craig is quick, snatches Luke’s hand in his own. It’s as if he’s waited for this chance for years.

“I’d really like to talk with you on our own,” he says.

Luke nods, looks at the hands clasped, squeezes tight himself.

“Me too.”

“Benny stays with his grandma – his mother’s mother – every second Saturday night. He’s staying over tomorrow night. We could meet up – you could come back here, or we could go out somewhere” –

“Why don’t we go out somewhere? It’d be nice to have dinner somewhere where neither of us have to wash up.”

Craig grins, his own hand squeezes tighter.


	3. Saturday AM

Saturday a.m.

Luke wakes up suddenly at four minutes to eight, his mind sodden in a soup of sleep, his eyes wide open. Where am I? Where’s Benny and Craig?

It’s breakfast time over in Ealing. Craig and Benny sit opposite one another, Benny smirking, Craig smirking back, waiting to hear what his son has to say.

“I found him,” Benny says with the self righteous glee of the person who will always be vindicated by one small piece of luck. “If it wasn’t for me having to go to the dentist, you wouldn’t have ever seen him again.”

“I might’ve,” Craig says, chin jutting to his son, playing as they do so often.

“Nuh –uh,” Benny says. “I found him for you.”


	4. Saturday PM

Saturday p.m.

They ended up meeting at a Spanish restaurant. It was Luke’s choice; Craig wasn’t certain if it was meant to be an acknowledgment of Benny’s heritage, so he asked him while they waited for their sangria.

Luke shrugged. “Well, sort of. It reminded me of this place last night, when Benny told me abut his mum. And they do a really good paella here.” He fidgets with his fork. “Did you live with his mum?”

Craig shakes his head. “No, she lived close by. It was pretty well planned, the whole thing. I used to drop in most nights, and I had him on weekends or when I was rostered off.”

“So you planned it all?”

Craig grins. “I wasn’t sleeping around with women,” and Luke blushes slightly, a past fleeting shame burning his face. “No, I mean, I wanted to have a child, so did Mara, so we planned it all very carefully, increased our life insurance, everything. A couple of friends of hers who were nurses helped us with the hard bits. “

“And she got sick?”

“She got breast cancer when he was about three, but it was late in being diagnosed. By the time they found it, it was too late.” They both think about this for a second. “Anyway, that’s why I can send him to such a good school, why he’s got a trust.”

Luke doesn’t get it. “Why?”

“The life insurance. No substitute for a mother, but…”

They were awkward for a while. Craig asked Luke how long he’d been a Sergeant.

“Three years.” Luke leaned back in his seat, regarded Craig’s face closely. He’s older, 48 or 49, slight threads of silver in his hair, his skin softer, less elastic; deep lines had set around his eyes. Somehow he still looked the same -the differences were apparent but not relevant. “I nearly rang you and told you,” Luke smiled, “but I had no idea where you where.”

“I’ve been at Ealing for six years.” Craig leans forward on his arms. “That’s how I felt when Benny was born. I wanted to tell you. I’ve got no idea why. I just felt you should’ve known.”

Luke thinks back, where he was thirteen years ago. “It would have been good to know,” he decides. “Were you – were you seeing someone?”

Craig nods. “I was with Michael.”

“How long?”

“Just over four years.” Craig closes his lips tight, stretches them in a kind of grimace before he answers, “He left us just after Mara – Benny’s mother – died. I got full custody obviously, but he couldn’t handle it.”

“What, the death?”

“No, having a child.” Craig is philosophical about it, quite lacking in bitterness. “He was perfectly honest. He just couldn’t cope with a child.”

“That must have been hard for you both. You and Benny, I mean.”

“Benny can’t remember him,” is all Craig says.

They patched their histories together, who did what when, Benny interwoven through both - Benny would have been four, Benny had just turned seven, it was just after Benny was born.

By the time the paella is down to the last few grains of rice in the large cast iron pan, they have covered the surface fairly adequately. And then Craig asks him,

“You happy?”

The question could take you by surprise but Luke has thought about it a lot over the last couple of years.

“I’ve got no reason to be unhappy,” he says straight into Craig’s eyes. “Nice flat, good job, good pension to look forward to. Work with nice people, all that.” He smiles and Craig can feel the absence. “What about you?” he asks Craig. “Are you happy?”

“Same,” Craig says without hesitation. “Adore my son, got a good relationship with him, nice house, great job, my boy’s healthy and tries hard at school, my health’s good. Same as you.”

“You’re lucky, having a son.”

Craig tilts his head, raises his eyebrows, waiting to hear more.

“I would have liked to have been a father,” Luke says.

“There’s still time.”

“True.” Luke looks down his plate, scoops up the last of his food. There’s no time, there’s no opportunity. It seems pointless to say it here, though.

By the time they had called for the bill their hunger had been satisfied, but the conversation never ventured below their surfaces. They didn’t get close to where they thought they might, never talked about what had happened between them years ago.

Luke wondered if already his flaws were flashing like beacons across the table at Craig.

It was cool outside, small spangles of rain flashed like crystal on the black of the road. They both look around each other, up and down the street, wondering what comes next. Craig caught a glimpse of Luke’s face in the silvery light and felt old, unattractive, redundant.

He speaks into the distance. “I have to get home for Benny, I have to be there in case he calls or get sick or..”

Or whatever, Luke thought. Whatever. “No, that’s fine. That’s fine. Let’s get you a cab.” Luke feels like there are huge stains and rips all over him, his imperfections available to everyone.

“Come home with me,” Craig says quite suddenly. When Luke looks up he can see a terror of sorts in Craig eyes and he recognises it immediately, the terror of rejection, the terror of loneliness.

They barely speak in the taxi, each looking out the window at the shiny slick of rain all over the night, the tinfoil glints of the street lights.

Luke stands behind Craig as he unlocks the door to his white house, walks in behind him, waits, knowing in the dark, his eyes adjusting, the sound of the keys dumped on the hallway table and he feels the warmth of Craig’s shadow and then his skin all over him, the silence broken only by the rustle of their clothes as they kiss very deeply and hungrily, unconcerned about anything except having each other right now.

Craig led him silently to his bedroom, closed the door and they undressed each other with surprising skill in the velvety blackness, stumbled a little as they edged along the bed, felt the marks of time on each other, but only guessed what they might look like now. Craig could feel the creases of Luke’s belly, the slightly sagging skin near his throat, the muscles in his thighs still hard but slightly spongy around his back.

“How long?” Craig asks him in the dark. “How long since you slept with someone?”

Luke laughs and rubs the tips of their noses together.

“Slept with someone or picked someone up at a beat?”

“Both.” Craig kisses him between sentences.

“Casual sex at a beat – nine months. Proper sex in bed - Two years and two months. How long for you?”

“Casual sex – thirteen months. Proper sex in bed” – Craig adds up in his head – “eight years.”

Luke’s heart thumps hard. He takes Craig’s face in his hand and once more, even the dark, they catch one another’s line of sight. His breath is heavy, frightened. “How long since you’ve made love with someone you really love?” 

Craig doesn’t hesitate. “4th January 2003.” His body is still as he gathers his nerve. “You?”

“Same,” Luke says, his eyes closed as they rest their foreheads together tenderly, “Exactly the same.”

He rubs his face across Craig’s chest as he had done once years ago, the hair there coarser and more wiry now, the belly harder, heavier, his scent richer and more alluring. They couldn’t talk about what had passed but they could feel it and it was nothing but abject pleasure for them both to feel how age had changed their skin but left the parts of their hearts they kept for each other completely intact.

And that was really all they were waiting for. It started then, at that moment, when they pulled their love out of the gutter where it was dropped so long ago and tenderly put it back into circulation. They kissed until their lips burnt, pumped and grunted as they clung to one another. Each came hard, crying for the other then curled up face to face afterwards, stroking each other’s hair. Then Luke lay on his back and Craig hesitated for a second but Luke reached over in the dark, drew him right up to him and he fell asleep, as he had always hoped he might one day, cradled under Luke’s chin, stretched out across his heart.


	5. Sunday AM

Sunday a.m.

Luke wakes up slowly, Craig right behind him, bent into each other like spoons. Craig’s awake, Luke thinks as he wallows in their shared warmth. Benny should be home soon. Sunday mornings should always be this nice.

“Morning,” Craig says softly.

How did he know I was awake?

Luke rolls around to him, holds his face with one hand and they smile broadly at one another.

“Good morning,” he answers.

“Do you want some breakfast?” Craig himself is starving. He always is when he wakes up.

“I do,” Luke says.

The morning light is soft and kind, they look at each other for a long time. Craig flattens to his back, Luke stretches and sits astride him. They run their fingers over their chests, along the soft creases of the arms, the heavy blue veins visible on their hands. We’re middle aged men, they think in different ways.

“You’re still beautiful,” Craig smiles at him.

Luke smiles back. It’s true. They both feel very beautiful. “I know,” he says with a tiny mischievous smile.

They scoff and tease one another, cuddle and squeeze, stopping every few minutes to stare and touch.

“I always though if we met up again it would take us ages…I thought we’d have to do a lot of talking,” Luke says.

“Yeah,” Craig agrees. “But you know what? I’m old. I couldn’t be bothered.”

Luke laughs. “You don’t want to tell me what a shit I was?”

“I reckon you’ve probably worked that out for yourself now.” Craig tempers his answer with a little kiss.

“You’re right,” Luke says.

“D’you want to tell me how I came on too strong and confused you and all the rest?”

“Do you want me to?”

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then let’s not.”

Craig is satisfied. “Maybe we can talk about it properly one day, maybe in the future.”

“Sure,” Luke says. The future.

“Or we can pretend we met last night and start from there.”

Luke’s face is serious as he stares at Craig. He shakes his head.

“No,” he says flatly.

“No? Why no?”

He traces Craig’s lips with his fingertips. It requires a long garbled story to explain this, and maybe it’s not the right time.

“Why no?” Craig says again.

“I went out with this bloke a few years after I left Sun Hill,” Luke says. “It was nothing really, sex, and he dumped me on my thirtieth birthday.”

“Classy,” Craig says, not smiling.

“I didn’t care,” Luke says truthfully. “I went home, had a drink and it occurred to me, just sitting there thinking about being thirty, how much I was in love with you.” They gaze at one another for a few seconds. “I honestly hadn’t realised until then. And it just wouldn’t go away. So I’ve been in love with you for about ten years that I’ve known about, and about four years that I didn’t.”

“Long time,” Craig says.

“So I can’t pretend I only just started last night.”

“Alright. We won’t.”

Luke seems satisfied. “Can I have some breakfast now?”

Craig’s face softens. “Breakfast is a possibility.”

“You sound like a parent.”

“I am a parent.”

“You know, that’s very sexy.”

“That I’m a parent?”

Luke crinkles his nose. “Yeah!”

Craig thinks about this. “Actually it’s not.”

“I’m not going to argue with you. I think you’re very sexy. Can I have some breakfast, please?”

“Well, you can if you get off me. There’s some clothes in the dresser over there. Tracksuit stuff.”

Luke sorts through the drawer, pulls something oversized and soft over his head, finds the matching pants, chuckles to himself how bad the fit is.

Craig doesn’t notice. He comes up behind him, still naked, folding his arms around him and kisses the side of his face.

“You knew that you loved me all that time?”

Luke recognises the words and smiles, eyes closed. There’s no purpose in regrets, not now, not ever.

“I did.”

“Well, then…” Craig’s voice trails off. He doesn’t say it then, he doesn’t say it for weeks, maybe months and when he does Luke has to ask him to repeat it. He grows so used so quickly to knowing Craig’s in love with him that hearing it described startles him as much as it delights him.

“Well then,” Luke says now, “Maybe I can have that breakfast you mentioned?”

“You’ve grown very assertive,” and when Luke is silent he adds, “It’s very sexy.”

When they kiss this time it’s like a seal, the final stamp on a carefully-negotiated agreement that’s been a long time coming.

Craig makes them what he calls a peasant’s breakfast; leftover vegetables from Benny’s roast, a little haloumi cheese, some thick rough pieces of toast. The papers have been delivered, they sit opposite one another, reading carefully, touching feet.

Benny comes home at eleven, through the back door, stands while the cold winter wind rushes in behind him, assesses the situation and grins at his father.

“Did you make peasant breakfast?” he says.

“He can smell food in a five mile radius,” Craig says, but already he is standing, fetching a plate, ready to feed his son’s locust appetite without hesitation. “Close the door. You’re letting all the heat out. Did you have breakfast?”

“Ages ago! Like seven o’ clock. Morning, Luke!” Benny sits down besides him, smiling cheerfully, once more happy to see him. “I told Grandma about you coming to dinner,” he starts, and the atmosphere in the room expands and embraces him, the tone changing to accommodate his youth, his maturity and immaturity, his precious links to Craig and the links he will form with Luke.

“You want a cup of tea, Benny?” Luke smiles straight at him, nurtures the atmosphere. “I’m making a fresh one.”

“Yeah! Thanks!”

Benny waits until Luke is busy with the kettle and his father is leaning over him with the plate of food before he whispers to Craig, whispers to him the same thing he’ll tell him at every relevant opportunity – at Christmas dinners, at his graduation, at birthday parties, at the wedding, at family gatherings, whenever he finds himself in that expanding atmosphere, whenever he feels his father needs to be reminded of how much he loves him, how great life can be.

“It’s because of me he’s here,” he whispers. “I found him for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fanfiction was once posted at Craiggilmore.co.uk a fan site no longer active, so to preserve this story and others, I am importing them to AO3. I did not want the loss of such a large amount of amazing and wonderful fanfiction, it would be such a waste to fans of Craig Gilmore and Luke Ashton to not have the opportunity to enjoy these stories as i have. Since the site is no longer active i have been unable to contact the creators but if you happen to be them under a new pen name and want the fiction to be removed please send me a note!
> 
> Story written by - Baxter


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